


Countdown to Cutlet

by pandabomb



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha Yuri Plisetsky, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Family Feels, Found Family, Gen, Gift Exchange, Kid Fic, M/M, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Victuuri Summer Loving 2019, but like... also a/b/o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 21:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20627999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandabomb/pseuds/pandabomb
Summary: While babysitting Yuuri and Viktor's baby, Yurio recounts how they got there - and realizes where he belongs.





	Countdown to Cutlet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Creme13rulee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/gifts).

> I hope you like it Creme13rulee!! The prompt I chose was "Pregnant Yuuri and viktor being fluffy a f" and trust me, this fic has that. It may not be what you wished for, but I really hope you enjoy it anyway <3
> 
> thanks for reading and I hope this brings some happiness <3<3<3
> 
> thank you @moonbelowsea for readthroughs!!

All Yuri wants is a new pair of pants.

Yuuri and Viktor called him this morning. Their usual babysitting service cancelled—or wasn’t available, or had fallen through, or maybe Viktor thought they weren’t _ affectionate _ and _ enriching _ enough for his sweet baby angel; _ whatever_—and they needed Yuri’s help. He’s twenty now. He’s an adult. He can be trusted with filing his own taxes; he’s perfectly capable of keeping a human-nugget alive for a few hours.

(“You’re her uncle!” Viktor yelled through the phone, all while making stupid babbling noises—and on speakerphone, so everyone in the supermarket could catch a glimpse of how insane their beloved Living Legend really was. “She just _ adores _you, Yura!”

“How much hourly?” Yuri snapped.

“Two thousand rubles,” Yuuri said, speaking calmly over Viktor’s nonsense. “And we’ll leave cash for pizza.”)

So now Yuri is on baby duty, Yuuri and Viktor are off doing who-knows-what, and _ he needs a new pair of pants_.

The cutlet babbles happily in his arms, propped atop Yuri’s bony hip. She tugs on the loose strings of his sweatshirt as they wander into Viktor’s monstrous walk-in closet.

“I hope you know what a pain in the ass you are,” Yuri tells her—in Russian, because she is a half-Russian baby, living in Russia, and if left to her parents’ devices she’ll just grow up speaking English and the atrocious _ who’s-my-sweet-girl?-who’s-my-roast-chicken?-who’s-my-mashed-potato? _mess Viktor feeds her on a daily basis. “Your puke is dripping all the way down my leg.”

Some part of this must be hysterical, because Cutlet screeches cheerfully and whacks her chubby hand against Yuri’s chest.

Yuri frowns at her. “Don’t laugh. You’re a mess.”

Another screech; a harder whap on his chest. 

“Your idiot father has a thousand pairs of pants,” Yuri mumbles. Cutlet yanks at the pocket of his sweatshirt with her little sausage fingers. “Fucking hell. Counting Katsudon’s wardrobe, they probably have a whole thousand and ten pants between them. So where the hell _ are _ they?”

In Viktor’s walk-in closet, endless outfits line the walls: jackets, blazers, button-up shirts, casual wear, costumes. He also has some high-end slacks hung up on the racks. But Yuri just wants a simple pair of sweatpants, not Dior 21/22. Truly, he _ should _ grab the fancy shit, and he should let Cutlet puke on those too—but that would require setting her down, then some buttoning and zipping. It was all too much fuss, even for being petty.

Cutlet wriggles; Yuri adjusts her a little further up his hip. 

There’s a suspicious smell wafting from her stretchy baby pants.

“Oh god,” Yuri mutters, lifting Cutlet high in the air. “Did you…?”

He sniffs her bottom. Oh, yeah.

Yuri sighs. “Fuck,” he mumbles, glancing around. He’s looking for sweatpants; what he sees is a whole extra diaper bag, inexplicably lying next to the doorway he just walked through. How many of those does Viktor _ have? _ Is it even stocked?

It is stocked. 

Viktor may be an idiot father, but he’s a _ prepared _ idiot father.

Yuri picks up the diaper bag, then notices—out of the corner of his eye—a familiar sweater, one that Viktor has worn a thousand times. It has geometric shapes on it, all in black, gray, and white; it’s just the barest step above any other typical gaudy, ridiculous, 80’s-style dad sweater.

It is absolutely hideous. Yuri has always thought so.

As he tosses the diaper bag onto the floor of the closet, Yuri yanks the sweater off its hanger with one hand, then drapes it on the floor next to the bag. Cutlet seems happy as he places her on top of it, wriggling and nuzzling her head into the fabric so she can get a little more of its scent.

“Ugh. You actually _ like _ that?” Yuri asks, peeling off her stinking baby pants. “He wears it all the time. Even though it’s so goddamn ugly.”

Cutlet bicycle-kicks her legs out, giggles, and flails a loosely-held fist.

Yuri scoffs. “Guess you inherited Katsudon’s shitty taste.”

A little drool runs from Cutlet’s mouth.

Yuri wipes it up with one of the sweater sleeves. “You know,” he says, distracted by the changing and Cutlet’s chubby, free-wheeling, kicking legs, “now that I think about it, I think he was wearing this when I first found out about you.”

[Eight Months to Cutlet]

Yuri’s ride pulled up to the curb outside of Viktor and Yuuri’s building.

_ I’m here_, Yuri texted. 

_ Okaeri_, Yuuri sent back.

Yuri frowned—his exhausted, jet-lagged face gradually tinting red.

The flight back to Russia had been grueling and lonesome. But Yuri would never admit that, and he _ had _ asked for it —a little more time to spend with Beka in the States. Since Yuri had won, and it didn’t cut into his training time, Viktor and Yuuri had agreed easily. But as Yuri stomped up the stairs to their apartment, lugging his suitcase behind him, something about using the elevator —seeing them sooner; seeing Katsudon’s soft smile, feeling Viktor’s clap on his back, hearing the dogs barking, and sensing like he was finally, _ finally _ in the right place—made Yuri frown and flush. It put a stupid fluttery feeling in his chest. Maybe some extra time on the stairs would help him gather his thoughts.

Or maybe it wouldn’t.

The dogs were barking before the door was even open—and the door was open before Yuri could even knock.

“Yura!” Viktor cried out, flying at Yuri with arms open wide. He was wearing that horrible sweater with the triangles; Yuri grimaced at the sight of it. “Congratulations! We’re so proud of you!”

In Viktor’s warm, tight embrace, Yuri’s eyes widened. After all these years, he was accustomed to a certain friendliness from Viktor. But this was a bit more than usual.

“Welcome back,” Yuuri said, grinning near the doorway. The two poodles yapped excitedly by his feet. He didn’t offer a hug; but then again, Yuri had noticed that he never hugged his family back in Hasetsu. “Let me get your bag—”

“_No_,” Viktor interrupted, a bit too intensely. He let go of Yuri, pat him on the back, then grinned again. “I’ll get it. I’m right here.”

“...All right,” Yuuri said. He looked to Yuri, then motioned him in. “Come inside, Yurio. Come sit down.” Once Yuri was in the living room, getting mauled by the poodles, Yuuri walked into the kitchen. He was wearing a light blue apron with little poodles on it; Yuri refused to believe or acknowledge that it was endearing. “I was just making dinner.”

“It better be what I think it is,” Yuri said dryly, leaning his arm and weary head on the couch-back.

Yuuri chuckled. “Of course. You brought home gold.”

Viktor wandered into the kitchen after his husband—sliding one hand up his back; kissing and scenting his bare neck the very instant he could. “Can I help, Yuurichka?” 

“No, I got it,” Yuuri said over his shoulder. 

From the couch, Yuri heard a faint sizzle—probably Katsudon tossing a bit of panko in, testing if the oil was ready. The dogs whined and tried to jump on the couch the very second that Yuri stopped scritching their ears.

“Are you sure?” Viktor said. He sounded nervous. “I could do it. You’ve been teaching me.”

“I’m sure,” Katsudon said. Yuri rolled his eyes as he heard a longer, wetter kissing noise—much louder this time. “Now go. Talk to your skater.”

Viktor sighed. “He’s your skater too.”

“I know,” Yuuri said. “Go, go. You’re in the way.”

“Use the longer chopsticks,” Viktor said quietly.

“_Go_, Vitya.”

As Viktor sighed again, dragging his feet into the living room, Yuri watched him with narrowed eyes. Before he could even reach the couch, a loud sizzle resounded from the kitchen—and Viktor turned right back around, _ sprinting _ back.

“On second thought, my love, I really think I should handle this—”

“Viktor? What are you—”

“You could get burned; the oil splatters!”

“_You _ could get burned. I know my way around a kitchen—”

“Holy fucking shit,” Yuri said, loud and deadpan. “Is Katsudon pregnant?”

Both husbands fell completely, heavily silent.

[-]

“And it’s not like Viktor has never seen Katsudon in danger before,” Yuri tells Cutlet, who stares at him with her big brown doll-eyes (like the omega who made her, Yuri does _ not _ think) and sucks on her fingers. “Viktor was his coach. He’s seen Katsudon take some pretty nasty falls.”

Cutlet seems very intrigued by this, wide glassy eyes locked to Yuri’s face. Without much fuss, she lets him slip her legs back into her pants—which, miraculously, weren’t a casualty in the war zone that was her diaper.

“Just goes to show,” Yuri grumbles, “how stupid all this _ love _ and _ baby _ stuff can make you.”

Cutlet stares.

“Okay, _ fine_,” Yuri cuts. “How stupid it makes alphas.”

More drool runs from Cutlet’s face, soaking the hand she’s gumming. Yuri plucks a teething toy from the diaper bag and sticks it in her mouth.

“I would never be like that,” Yuri tells her. Cutlet makes little reaching motions at him; he hoists her up against his chest. “I can promise you that right now, especially since you’re always so stinky and messy. I’ll never be the kind of alpha who loses their mind over…” he waves a hand loosely, “starting a _ family_, or whatever.”

Cutlet yanks the toy from her mouth, then chucks it a few feet away. It hits the floor with a goofy little jingle.

Yuri sighs. He sits on the floor (atop a very soft but very gaudy white rug; he wishes Katsudon would exercise some sense and throw it out) and leans back against one of the many huge, fancy drawers centered in the closet. Viktor keeps his neckties, scarves, and whatever other accessories he might “need” in there. Cutlet seems pleased enough to just sit on his (clean, pukeless) thigh, yet again trying to grasp the loose strings of his sweatshirt. 

“And even if I did,” Yuri mumbles, “I wouldn’t be one like Viktor. He went _ so _ fucking overboard.”

[Five Months to Cutlet]

“Is there anything I can get you?” Viktor asked, gazing up at Yuuri moonily—like he’d literally hung the moon itself.

And he had specifically asked Yuuri. _ Not _ Yuri. Yuri, apparently, might as well be one of the pillows thrown carelessly on the couch rather than a guest in Viktor’s living room. (Not that they had ever treated him like one. The guest room was unofficially Yuri’s room; his toothbrush was in the en suite and his clothes filled half of the dresser drawers.)

“I’m fine,” Katsudon said. Then he bit his lip. “I mean…. Well…”

Viktor reached up to cradle his husband’s cheek. “Anything.”

“No,” Katsudon mumbled, cupping his husband’s hand and shaking his head, “no, it’s fine, it’s too much trouble—”

“Tell me,” Viktor interrupted. Honestly, Yuri was _ creeped out _ by that look in his eyes—like he’d just smelled blood in the water; like he’d just spotted a brand new championship gold medal hanging on a very low-held stick. “I’ll get it for you.”

Katsudon smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been craving peanut butter.”

“Peanut butter,” Viktor repeated. He stood up fully; he’d been on his knees, on the floor in front of Katsudon, who sat on the couch like a normal person. From his own spot on the couch, Yuri sneered at them both in mildly horrified silence. “Peanut butter. We don’t have any, do we? I’ll have to go out.”

“That’s why I said,” Katsudon said patiently, “that it’s too much—”

“Not at all.” Viktor leaned down, kissed Katsudon firmly on the mouth, and stood straight again. Yuri thought he looked like a man who’d just been tasked with delivering a message behind enemy lines—which was an insult to soldiers, really, because he had been asked to _ get peanut butter from the store_. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Katsudon said—to Viktor’s back, because the man was already marching his way to the door. “Come back safe!”

“Get me a coke!” Yuri hollered.

“Fine!” Viktor yelled back—just rudely enough that Yuri knew he was being acknowledged.

The door shut, a lock clicking in place a moment later. Then distant footsteps tromped down the stairs. Yuri was amazed he didn’t hear Viktor barricading them in from the other side, the absolute madman.

Katsudon sighed.

“Happy he’s gone?” Yuri snarked.

He expected a swift and mushy denial. What he got was another, heavier sigh.

“I don’t know what to do about him,” Katsudon admitted, chuckling under his breath. “Believe me, Yurio. I know he’s overdoing it.”

“Tell him to cool it,” Yuri said plainly.

“You think I haven’t tried?” Katsudon leaned back on the couch, sighed again, and made an absent-minded grabby motion at the water bottle on the coffee table. Yuri was confounded to find himself placing it in his hand without a word. “He listens. But then he forgets. Or can’t think straight. I even—I asked the doctor how long I could expect this to last.”

“And?” Yuri mumbled, staring at his own hand in horror. 

“He could settle down in a few weeks. Or he might not. It might even last until the baby is born.” Exhaling deeply, Katsudon glanced down to his own stomach; he was showing, but just barely. If the pheromone cocktail constantly ebbing from him didn’t blast the happy news to every alpha, omega, and scent-sensitive beta in the immediate vicinity, Katsudon could almost pass for chubby. He was entering a stage of pregnancy that was relatively secure—far less concern for miscarriages—so by all accounts, including the doctor’s, Viktor should _ relax _ already.

Katsudon rubbed his belly. “I just look fat.”

Yuri snorted. “Thank god you said it.”

“You can say it too,” Katsudon said, chuckling.

“Are you kidding?” Yuri nodded towards the door. “And have him rip my head off?”

“He wouldn’t,” Katsudon muttered. He drank more water; rubbed his belly again. “You don’t have to worry about that. He trusts you.”

Yuri blushed at that—which was _ stupid _ , because who cared what Viktor thought of him. Whether or not Viktor—an alpha driven bonkers by the slight change of Katsudon’s pheromones from _ I’m-an omega-and-it’s-whatever _ to _ I’m-an-omega-and-also-carrying-your-baby_—thought that Yuri, also an alpha, was trustworthy enough to be near his omega for extended periods without supervision.

As Katsudon traced a looping finger over his own stomach, over and over, Yuri narrowed his eyes. “Do you even _ want _ peanut butter?”

That finger jolted to a stop.

“Katsudon,” Yuri said slowly, laughing darkly, “did you seriously just say whatever it took to get rid of him?”

Katsudon’s eyes flashed with embarrassment. “Don’t make it sound so _ mean_.”

Yuri laughed harder.

“He’s doing the best he can!” Katsudon flopped a hand onto the couch, a dark flush rising in his cheeks. “But I need to _ breathe _ sometimes!”

Yuri wiped the wetness from his eyes. “Does he even let you out of the house?”

Katsudon rolled his eyes. “No. Not really.”

Yuri stopped laughing. He asked, gravely: “What do you mean.”

“Huh?” Katsudon’s eyes, big and brown, widened beneath the cover of his glasses. “Oh, no! That’s not what I meant.”

Yuri said nothing. Stared. He waited for Katsudon to explain what he _ had _ meant.

“So, the other day,” Katsudon began, “I wanted to take the dogs for a walk. It was nice and sunny, not too cold. Viktor said he’d come too, and I said, no, I’ll take the two of them by myself, and he should make the phone calls he’d been meaning to make.” Katsudon rubbed his eyes, tipping his glasses up above his fingers. “And Viktor seemed fine with that. But then he asked to help me dress. Which was fine—it was kind of sweet, actually. Then he was helping me put on my shoes, and he asked me if I needed a foot rub. Of _ course _ I don’t need a foot rub; I’ve barely even started to show. But I let him, because he asked, and he seemed eager to do it. Then he kissed my leg, and said I was even more alluring now, and—”

“I don’t need to hear the rest,” Yuri cut in.

“—so, I got distracted, and before I knew it I wanted a nap and he was already tucking me into bed and out the door with the dogs.”

It was Yuri’s turn to rub his eyes. “Tell him to cool it,” he said, again, weary beyond words, “and maybe find your_ backbone.” _

Katsudon sighed. “Actually, my back has already started to hurt.”

“Seriously?” Yuri raised one eyebrow. “Then tell the cutlet to cool it too.”

Katsudon tilted his head. “Cutlet?”

“Yeah,” Yuri said, shrugging. He forced down another blush through sheer force of will. “Since it’s the only thing you make that’s really worth cooking.”

Katsudon just stared for a beat. Then he laughed again. “Cutlet, huh,” he mumbled, staring at and rubbing his belly some more. “That’s not bad.”

[-]

“We called you that through the whole pregnancy.”

Cutlet makes a quiet _ aah _ noise, then a louder _ aah _ noise, and waves an open hand at the toy she chucked across the closet floor. 

“But I’m the only one who still calls you that, because I’m the only one with any real determination in this household.”

Cutlet makes a loud, longer _ aa-ah _ noise. Yuri reddens. 

“I mean. Not that I’m _ part _ of this household.”

Wriggling and _ aah_-ing, Cutlet grows more and more restless in his arms. Yuri gives her the toy back; she throws it again, then seems satisfied to see it go _ boink-bonk _ across the floor. But only for a second. He wonders if she has a little too much energy.

“Floor exercises,” he says, definitively. He refuses to call it _ tummy time_, like Viktor, who lost his fucking marbles a long time ago. 

There are plenty of other hideous sweaters tucked away in Viktor’s walk-in, so Yuri yanks another off its hanger and drapes Cutlet onto it, resting her on her stomach. Right away she flails and wiggles, trying to lift her head up to keep him in sight. She managed to flip herself over for the first time a few days ago; while Katsudon gave her a normal amount of praise and kisses, Viktor cried for probably a solid twenty minutes.

(“She’s growing up too fast,” he said, words bubbling from his throat. “I can’t keep up. I can’t bear it.”

“Vitya,” Katsudon said softly, wiping a single tear as it fled from Viktor’s eye. “What are you going to do when she says her first word?”

Viktor gasped, covering his mouth. Katsudon pulled his hand down to press a kiss there.

“Can you two, I don’t know, calm the fuck down?” Yuri asked, eating leftovers in front of the open fridge.)

While Cutlet squirms on the floor, Yuri re-commits to finding a new pair of pants. They _ have _ to be around here somewhere. But with him out of sight, Cutlet makes a louder, more urgent _ ahh _ noise.

“I know, I know! I’m right here!” Yuri tosses over his shoulder, tearing through one of the central drawer units in the walk-in closet. Before he can find any pants, he comes across what looks like a lingerie drawer; Yuri leaves the wadded-up diaper in there as punishment for his suffering.

Cutlet makes another _ ahh! _ noise.

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Yuri replies, “I’m watching. You’re doing great!”

Right as Yuri pulls a fresh pair of sweatpants out of a drawer full of fancy exercise clothes—holding the pants high and triumphant—Cutlet pushes herself from her stomach onto her back.

“Wow,” Yuri says, unironically. “Nice work, Cutlet. That was quick.”

Cutlet coos at the ceiling.

Yuri goes over to put her back on her stomach. “Can you do it again? I’ll race you.”

Cutlet slams her legs and feet against the sweater on the floor—well, _ slams _ as much as a baby can—and starts to wriggle with a lot more confidence and direction than before. It’s a near thing for Yuri to change out of the puke-pants and into fresh ones before the baby has again flipped herself onto her back.

“You’re getting good at that,” Yuri mumbles, peering down at her as she grins.

Cutlet’s arms flap straight up, as though she’s reaching for him. Yuri picks her up and holds her aloft. 

They stare at each other for about half a minute.

“Yuri,” he says, just slow enough to hold Cutlet’s attention.

“Ah,” she responds.

“Yu-ri,” he repeats. It would be too fucking funny if her first word was _ his _ name, and while the parents were gone, doing who-knows-what until who-knows-when. For all Yuri knows, they’re just out on a date.

“Ah,” Cutlet says.

Yuri frowns. It’s probably a little too early for that anyway.

When Cutlet grabs for him, Yuri brings her closer, letting her rest on his hip again. Her hands raise to bap along his face, studying how his skin feels and where it protrudes or feels different. He has to shut his eyes as her sticky fingers poke near his brow. As her hands slap gently over his mouth, just for fun, Yuri pretends like he’s going to nibble her fingers. Cutlet _ screams _ in delight, chubby little face scrunching up with sheer joy. Once she calms down, Cutlet reaches for his mouth again—only for Yuri to “snarl” again, chasing her tiny sausage fingers back to her roly-poly chest. Cutlet squeals, high-pitched and sharp, as though she’s never experienced anything quite so exhilarating and hysterical in her entire life.

Yuri guesses she hasn’t. It’s not exactly a tough crowd he’s working with. 

With her big brown eyes latched onto him, and her drooling mouth pulled into a huge, goofy, toothless grin—a grin that looks like her idiot father’s, if Yuri is honest with himself—Yuri’s heart undergoes a bizarre and painful contraction. He wonders if he has heartburn. 

But even as he puzzles over that, Yuri drops a quick, unexpected kiss onto her tiny button nose. Cutlet giggles again.

Yuri holds her further out, straight-armed, staring at the happy baby with wide, shocked eyes. “Don’t tell _ anybody _ I did that.”

Cutlet waves a grubby hand at him. “Ahh, ahh.”

“I mean it,” Yuri says, eyes flitting around for any possible witnesses. He doesn’t know what just came over him. Is he going insane? He might need psychiatric help.

But Cutlet keeps grabbing for him, so Yuri has no choice but to hold her closer. 

“Listen. I have to be tougher on you,” Yuri explains, sitting on the floor with her again, “because your parents are both total nutbags.”

Cutlet seems almost like she’s nodding, head bobbing a little as she says, “Ah bah.”

“Exactly. I knew you’d get it.”

“Bah bah.”

“No, so like,” Yuri says, rubbing a hand over his own forehead, “if I just leave you to them, you’ll be so spoiled. Like, _ really _ spoiled.”

Cutlet picks up one of the strings of his sweatshirt and starts sucking on it. 

Yuri sighs. “Listen, Cutlet. You need to understand just how terrible they really are.”

[Two Months to Cutlet]

After a long and grueling practice—and with another long, grueling, horrible practice the next morning—Yuri spent the night at Viktor and Yuuri’s place. (If Yuri had to wake up at four AM, he’d make his coaches drag him to the rink, and he would complain all the way there.)

Around eight PM, when Yuri was already yawning and ready to conk out into a practically-dead and dreamless sleep, he crept out of the guest room to go brush his teeth. The hallway was dim; he got by on muscle memory, ignoring the dull chatter of the television and the snores of one of the dogs near the master bedroom.

Opening the bathroom door, Yuri heard the soft, sleepy, peaceful sound of Katsudon’s laughter emanating from the living room. 

“Tickles,” the omega said—the word almost swallowed by a yawn.

“I love touching it,” Viktor replied. Without even knowing what he was referring to, Yuri made a grossed-out face in the darkened bathroom doorway. “It’s our baby in there. _ Our baby.” _

Viktor sounded so elated, so amazed, that Yuri stopped grimacing. He sniffed once, bleary-eyed, and wandered inside to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

Teeth brushed, hair combed, face washed, bladder emptied, and mouth flossed, Yuri shut off the bathroom light and opened the door silently. He padded into the dim hallway, closing the door behind him—the dogs would try to drink from the toilet otherwise—and right away, he heard murmuring tones still floating from the living room.

Without knowing why, Yuri paused right where he was in the hallway. He listened.

“I love you,” Viktor said. That was normal; Yuri had heard that plenty of times before. “Yuurichka, my darling—I love you so, so much.”

“I love you too,” Yuuri said. As Yuri stood in the hall, looking into the faraway lights of the living room—at the back of the couch—he saw Katsudon’s hand rise to hold his husband’s face, stroking his cheek with incredible, unspeakable gentleness.

“You make me so happy,” Viktor said, voice almost a breath; it was a tone that Yuri had only ever overheard once before, in the sanctity of a church, with a worshipper bent in prayer. “I never… I could never even dream, before, that I would be so happy.”

The words sunk into Yuri’s ribcage, bludgeoning against his heavy heart. He had never dreamed of anything like this for himself. He couldn’t imagine ever earning, receiving, or giving a love like this—not once, not ever, in any of the years of his life. In a secret, throbbing part of his mind, Yuri still believed that such bliss would never touch him. 

When Katsudon moved across the couch, sinking further into Viktor’s arms, Yuri rushed into his bedroom and yanked the door shut. 

But it wasn’t disgust that spurred his hand—nor jealousy. It was bitter, formless longing.

Yuri was old enough to know that by then. 

[-]

“They’re real pieces of work,” Yuri says quietly. Cutlet listens to him in silence, still sucking on the string of his sweatshirt. “Those two. Your parents. They’re two halves of a whole monster.”

In a contemplative reply, Cutlet stuffs more of the string into her mouth. Then she coughs, suddenly and grossly, eyes widening at how uncomfortable the plastic-and-fabric is in her mouth. 

Yuri frowns, tugging the string from her mouth. “Well don’t gag on it.”

Cutlet blinks and breathes, a little more labored now. Her lip quivers.

“Oh, no,” Yuri warns. “Don’t you start that.”

Cutlet’s bottom lip wobbles even more.

“No. _ No,” _ Yuri says, standing up with Cutlet perched in his arms. “We’re not going to cry. Instead, we’re going to…” he glances around, then notices some papers stacked on a nearby drawer, covered in ink and Viktor’s handwriting; they detail some kind of crucial financial thing that Yuri doesn’t care about in the slightest. “We’re going to tear up some paper. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

He grabs the pile of papers and drops it onto the rug. Then he gathers a bunch of random clothes—including a bulky faux-fur jacket, which will be very comfy to rest his tired butt on—and fashions a sort of makeshift nest on the floor for Cutlet and himself to lounge in. It only smells _ mildly _ like Katsudon and Viktor; detergent and dry cleaning have worked wonders.

“Look, look,” Yuri says, encouraging Cutlet to watch the piece of paper in his hand. “Watch this. Woo….” 

He rips the paper slowly, giving it a little sound effect as he does. Cutlet finds this fascinating. As she picks up a paper, crumpling it in her hand, her wobbling lip stops entirely.

Yuri exhales in relief.

“Crisis averted,” he mumbles—while Cutlet eviscerates some possibly-irreplaceable account statement. “What would this family do without me.”

Cutlet glances at him over her shoulder. She rips apart another paper, then gives him a gummy, pleased smile. 

“That’s right,” Yuri says, patting the top of her head. He sighs. “Not the first time I’ve saved a Nikiforov from a total meltdown.”

[Four Hours to Cutlet]

Yuri sat on the living room couch, leafing through a magazine. Beka had called earlier and mentioned that his interview was in the newest print.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuri saw Viktor wander into the living room, head tilted up and nostrils flaring rhythmically. Yuri barely even paused to stare at him over the pages of his magazine. By now, he was accustomed to Viktor’s new level of batshittery; and he _ had _ calmed down a bit, in all the months of Katsudon’s pregnancy, though just barely. But Yuri always suspected that a new level of lunacy still lurked beneath the surface. 

Apparently, he was right—because Viktor was sniffing around the apartment like a dog hunting for a hidden treat.

Abruptly, Viktor stopped. He didn’t even turn to look at Yuri as he said: “Where’s Yuuri?”

“Off to get the mail,” Yuri muttered in reply. “He went down less than five minutes ago.”

Viktor’s head snapped to face him. “He used the stairs?”

“The _ elevator,” _ Yuri hissed—throwing in a fresh glare for good measure. “As if he even could. Katsudon is the size of a whale.” 

Viktor kept staring at him, and Yuri thought he could see the pupils in those blue eyes blown wide. It sent a hunch of unease sweeping down his spine.

Yuri snapped the magazine straight, turned a page, and mumbled: “Fuckin’ psychopath.”

The front door opened. Yuri heard the flop of papers as Katsudon set the mail down in its little dish by the coat hooks and shoe rack. Before Yuri could even blink twice, Viktor was all the way across the room, gathering Katsudon in his arms. 

“Yuuri,” he gasped—shoving his nose into his husband’s hair, just behind and beneath his ear.

“Vitya,” Katsudon said. He blinked in surprise, then pat Viktor on the back. “Hi.”

Viktor took one more slow, deep breath. He leaned back—both hands clutching Katsudon by the shoulders. Even from afar, Yuri could see a tremble in those hands.

“You’re going into labor.”

Yuuri’s face went slack. “Eh?”

It was a bit of a blur after that. 

Viktor drove them to the hospital—in a car he had purchased for this very occasion, insistent that he would _ know _ when it was time, and an ambulance would be too untrustworthy and slow—while Yuuri called their doctor and the entire birthing team that they’d already set up. Thank god, Yuri had not been involved or privy in any of these matters; it was enough to watch Viktor nearly reach across the divide between lanes and throttle a man who had considered merging into their lane a bit too fast.

In the hospital, at first, Yuuri refused to sit in a wheelchair—which flared a vein in Viktor’s head so intensely and vividly that Yuri had to crack a smile. But, as always, Katsudon got his way; they stood side-by-side and hand-in-hand when the doctor came to greet them.

It was only when the first really bad contractions hit that Yuri realized: _ Oh. This is real. _

Viktor looked so pale and bloodless at Katsudon’s discomfort that it might as well have been him in labor. The doctor helped assess the stage of contraction, her voice calm and authoritative; Yuri was half-sure that they all clung to her stability like a lifeline until the pain had subsided. Finally, Katsudon could be coaxed into a wheelchair. As Viktor helped his husband into it, Yuri jolted in shock to feel Katsudon’s hand fly out and clamp onto his wrist. 

“Call my family,” he ordered. 

Then he was wheeled away—off to be prepped for a Caesarian while his alpha husband gasped for breath and murmured encouragements in his ear. 

Yuri stood alone in a white, sterile hallway. He realized, slowly, that he was already clutching his phone in a trembling hand. When he lifted the phone, the usual screen greeted him—an old picture of Potya as a kitten—and he unlocked it on autopilot. 

“Call Mari,” he told the phone. Right away, a dial tone rang tinny and distant in his ears. It was late in Japan; Mari was probably the only one awake, or the only one who kept her phone close enough to respond. 

On the very last ring, Mari’s voice grumbled into the phone. “Yurio.”

“Hey,” he greeted—voice abnormally high as he kept staring at the doorway Katsudon and Viktor had disappeared through.

“Is it time?” Mari asked.

“Yeah,” Yuri breathed out.

Mari exhaled, long and slow. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Yuri said, chuckling. “Fuck.”

“Let me wake up Mom and Dad.”

Yuri stayed on the line as he heard Mari shuffling about. Before long, the faraway noises of Katsudon’s parents reached his ears; not long after that, he noticed the video call request.

Yuri hit accept—and saw Katsuki Hiroko smiling at him.

“Mari is getting packed,” she said, looking for all the world like this was just a normal day, with a normal thing happening to her only son. “Thank you for calling us, Yurio.”

A lump lodged heavy and thick in Yuri’s throat. He nodded. “O-Of course.”

“Tell Yuuri that we’re on our way,” she said, smiling wider. “The tickets are booked for next week, actually. He’s a little early.”

“I know,” Yuri said—because he did. He’d memorized Katsudon’s due date months ago.

Hiroko laughed under her breath. She seemed so calm. How was she so calm?

“Yurio,” she said, “I know it’s scary. But you’re doing a good job.”

Yuri tried to reply, but all that eked from his mouth was a weird squeaky noise.

“Can I ask you for another favor?” Hiroko asked.

Yuri nodded—glad they were on video call and she could see it.

“Will you look after Vicchan?” Her smile went softer, a fondness interweaving with the curve of her lips. “I think he must be more scared than anybody else.”

Again, a little shaky, Yuri nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice warm and so, so familiar. “We’ll see you soon, Yuricchi. _ Ja ne_.”

The call ended. Once more, Yuri stood in unmoving silence—staring at a closed doorway; at the echo of Katsudon and Viktor rushing further and further away, then out of sight.

Suddenly, the door burst open—and Viktor was led outside, two nurses guiding him with firm, seizing grips on either shoulder. “Wait out here, Mr. Katsuki. As we discussed.”

“Wait,” Viktor babbled, casting frantic glances over his shoulder. “But, but—wait—what if he needs me? What if he—”

“_As we discussed_,” one of the nurses said again, firmly. “Once the procedure is complete, we will come fetch you.”

“Wait!” Viktor called out, one hand raising—but they left without another word, and the doorway swung shut behind them.

Before Viktor could even take a single step—probably to go and do something extremely stupid—Yuri was at his side. “Come on, Viktor,” he said, trying to drag Viktor away with a harsh grip on the upper arm. 

“They took him away,” Viktor mumbled, nearly inaudible.

“No, they didn’t,” Yuri replied. He yanked at Viktor again; it was like dragging a boulder uphill. “This is how it’s done, Viktor. They’re going to—” _ cut him open_, Yuri thought, and just barely managed to stop himself from voicing it, knowing it would be a mistake— “take care of him. You agreed to this. It’s safer.”

This procedure _ was _ safer, for male omegas; and it _ was _ normal protocol, to exclude alphas from the operating room when their omega was submitted for a c-section. The smell of blood and the use of scalpels could easily destabilize them, creating a hectic or even dangerous workspace for the medical team. 

“It’s safer,” Viktor parroted. He nodded, twitchy, and clenched his hands into fists. “Yes. You’re right. Of course, Yura. You’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right,” Yuri grumbled. Barely, just barely, Viktor let himself be led towards a line of chairs against the wall.

Until he stopped dead.

“What if he calls for me?” Viktor mumbled, eyes wide and stricken.

Yuri gripped his arm tighter. “He won’t. He knows the drill, and he's drugged.”

“But what if he does?” Somehow, impossibly, Viktor’s eyes went even wider—and he drew in a long gasp. “What if something goes wrong, without me there? I couldn’t—I can’t—I didn’t even get the chance to tell him how much I love him. I mean, I told him I love him, _ of course _ I did, but I didn’t have the time to say _ how much, _ and—” Viktor dragged in another huge gasp, “—what if he’s scared. What if he needs me? Or what if that was the last time we ever—”

Yuri slapped Viktor across the face.

For about ten seconds, Viktor was completely still—head tilted with the force of the smack, staring wide-eyed down at nothing. Yuri’s hand tingled; he clenched and unclenched it with great satisfaction.

When Viktor stood up straight, he actually seemed somewhat calm. “Thank you, Yurio.”

Yuri nodded shakily. “Anytime.”

[-]

“And then, not even an hour later, you were born,” Yuri tells Cutlet. 

Or—tries to tell her. By now, she’s lost all interest in destroying papers. Instead, she’s doing her very best to grab Yuri’s lips and yank them off his face. 

So, the usual.

“You were a hideous baby,” Yuri says, words muffled in the sticky-grab of chubby baby fingers. “Like a weird raisin. Like you’d been left in the pool too long.”

Cutlet smacks both hands, open-palmed, onto either side of Yuri’s face. 

“Yeah,” Yuri says, nodding. “I smacked your idiot father kind of like that.”

With a soft, trilling purr, she reaches up and tries to pick his nose.

Yuri crinkles his face at her. “I still wonder if Katsudon didn’t overcook you a little bit.”

Cutlet beams, then bops his mouth with an open, clumsy hand.

“Yeah,” Yuri mumbles. “Definitely overcooked.”

Outside the walk-in, a bit distantly, Yuri hears the dogs barking and scuttling like crazy near the front door. The idiot pair must be home. Cutlet hasn’t noticed anything yet; she’s still focused on whether or not she can dig Yuri’s organs out through his nostrils, like he’s a dead pharaoh ready for mummifying. Once the dogs have been yapping for a minute or so, Yuri hears the dulcet, unhinged tones of Viktor Nikiforov-Katsuki wafting through the apartment.

“Where is my Masha-girl?” Viktor calls out. Yuri says nothing; Cutlet perks up, realizing that something is amiss and they’re no longer alone. “Where is my sweet potato pie?” Viktor sing-songs—because he’s literally insane, and fatherhood has rotted what little brains he had to start with. “Where is my chicken noodle soup?”

While Viktor wanders around the apartment, chanting nonsense into the abyss, Katsudon silently slides through the closet’s left-ajar door. He finds Yuri and Cutlet sitting on the floor—Yuri has no idea how he knew exactly where to go; call it an omega’s intuition—and smiles.

“Hi, Hima,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners beneath his blue-rimmed glasses.

Cutlet stares up at him, open-mouthed. Shocked.

“Took you guys long enough,” Yuri grumbles, hobbling up from the clothes-pile and into a stand.

The moment Katsudon takes the baby from Yuri’s hands, that wide-eyed surprise of hers has morphed into a red-faced, crumpled, horrified face-scrunch. In Katsudon’s arms, she starts _ wailing_, her screams piercing every single wall and window in the apartment. 

“Oh, no,” Katsudon mumbles. He eases Cutlet’s sobbing face into the corner of his neck and collarbone; she burrows in and keeps crying. “I’m sorry, honey. Did you miss us?”

The eardrum-puncturing screaming continues. Yuri wonders how she stores all that lung capacity in that tiny, soft-boned body.

Viktor walks in, appearing not-at-all perturbed by the inhuman noises ripping out of his banshee child. “Masha! There you are!”

At the sight and sound of her idiot father, Cutlet somehow manages to scream even louder.

Viktor grins like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. He kisses Cutlet’s forehead, then his husband’s temple, rubbing a hand up and down each of their backs. “She started crying the moment she saw you were back, didn’t she?”

“Every time,” Katsudon replies, shaking his head.

“It’s because she was having so much fun with her favorite uncle,” Viktor coos, and drops another five kisses onto his daughter’s flushed, tear-soaked face. “Weren’t you, my Mashka?”

“Thank you, Yurio,” Katsudon says. He bounces Cutlet in his arms; it doesn’t seem to help much, as she keeps sobbing and clinging to him like a rabid koala. “We really appreciate it.”

Yuri sniffs. “Sure. Whatever.”

Viktor, still smiling, seems to finally notice the chaos that his meticulously curated walk-in closet has become. But all he says to Yuri is: “You’re wearing my pants.”

“Yeah,” Yuri responds—and leaves it there.

“...All right. Well,” Viktor says, turning to his husband, “should I take Masha, my love? It’s my turn to get her ready for bed.”

“No, it’s okay,” Katsudon replies. With the way Cutlet is clutching to his clothes, Yuri doesn’t think Viktor could pry her off with a crowbar. “I’ve got her.”

“I just changed her, like, twenty minutes ago,” Yuri tells him. “It was a big one.”

The relief is apparent on Katsudon’s face. “You’re a saint.”

As Cutlet’s screams dwindle to hiccupy, exhausted whimpers, Yuri notices that Katsudon has… started to smell. Only a second later, he realizes that the smell has actually been there since he walked in; Cutlet’s distress only exacerbated it, coaxing more of it out—an omega’s subconscious way of soothing their child.

But it’s… a weird smell.

Yuri leans in closer. Takes a big whiff.

With a silent gasp, he recognizes the scent—saccharine and mouthwatering; an omega before heat always smells like warm spices, cooked sugar, or sun-ripened fruit—right as Katsudon’s big brown eyes widen in surprise. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Yuri grumbles. “I hope you two were out getting the shot. Don’t you think one is enough?”

Katsudon has time to blink precisely _ once _ before Viktor is dragging Yuri out by the ear. 

“Thank you for your help, Yura!” He says, chirpy and clipped.

“Ow-ow-ow-_ow—” _ Yuri snarls, flailing; the man’s grip is an iron claw— “_Fuck! _ Let _ go _of me—”

“We love you very much,” Viktor says as he hauls Yuri through the hallway. “You’re our Mashka’s dearest uncle.”

He lets Yuri stumble, unhindered and untethered, into the entryway by the shoes. Yuri rubs his abused ear with a sneer and a glare; it stings, even if Viktor _ did _ take care to avoid his piercings.

“Will you come for dinner tomorrow?” Viktor asks—head tilted up and hands on his hips.

“Duh,” Yuri snaps. “And I’m bringing over some laundry.”

“Fine,” says Viktor—tone still tight with annoyance. “Be over by six. I’m making bouillabaisse.”

“The fuck is that,” Yuri grumbles.

Normally, Viktor takes Yuri’s barbs and teases in stride. But he’s already been pushed too far. He raises one pale, icy eyebrow and says: “You’re too old to act like this.”

Yuri’s face heats. “Don’t ask me to babysit again. I won’t do it,” he says, and they both know he’s lying. 

Viktor smiles. “Good night. Make sure to lock up behind you.”

He starts walking off, so Yuri says to his back: “Have to go sit in the dark and watch your kid sleep for a few hours?”

Viktor waves a hand over his shoulder. “Yes.”

Then he’s gone. 

Yuri stands alone in the entryway, red-faced and scowling. He should put on his shoes. He should stomp them onto his feet, jut his arms into his jacket, and slam the door behind him, making sure both Viktor and Katsudon hear him leaving—hear how annoyed he is at being treated like a naughty child, when he’s already _ very much an adult, _ thank you. 

But the apartment is quiet now. The dogs have gone back to sleep and Cutlet has calmed down. From her nursery, down the hallway, Yuri hears the delicate tinkling of a music box; with that, there’s also Katsudon’s low, soft humming as he follows along with the lullaby. In the kitchen, the sink rushes on; Viktor starts tackling the dishes that Yuri left there carelessly, too distracted to clean up after he fed Cutlet dinner. 

Yuri puts on his shoes. Noiselessly, he shuts the door behind him.

He stands outside the front door, key in hand.

They have practice at the rink early in the morning. Viktor will meet him there—possibly with Cutlet strapped to his chest, if she has an early start, or if Viktor is in one of those moods where he can’t bear to be away from her for more than a minute. Regardless, Yuri will get plenty more of them all when he comes over for dinner. He should try to get some alone-time while he can.

Yuri thinks all this as he turns around, opens the door, and goes right back into the apartment.

As Yuri kicks his shoes off, Viktor sees him from the kitchen. He tilts his head up in a silent question.

“Spending the night,” Yuri mumbles—ignoring the searing heat built up on his face. 

Viktor grins, nods, and goes right back to the dishes.

**Author's Note:**

> I started off writing pregnancy fluff, but it ended with found family......... I'm shoft..,,
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this!! I wanted to write something with alternating timelines, and something from Yuri's POV of the main couple. I also haven't dipped my toe into a/b/o in a long time, so that was kind of a trip. you might have noticed, but I'm firmly in the "alphas live for service" camp. I love the idea that alphas' brains are constantly running a loop of "how to please how to please how to please I MUST PLEASE" lol. (yes, the alphas I write are basically golden retrievers.)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the gift, Creme13rulee!
> 
> p.s. Cutlet's name is Himawari :) I wanted to do Himari, after Hiroko and Mari, but that was a little too Twilight lmao  
p.p.s. Viktor isn't even that crazy this is just Yuri's POV and Viktor is full of LIFE AND LOVE


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